Shepard
"So every time he dies, they just replace the actor and keep going?"
"Yep," Joker said, scrolling through an extranet article while simultaneously piloting the ship. Shepard tried to keep safety protocols out of his mind. "That's how the show's still running after all these years. The current lead's a salarian, which pissed off the diehard fanboys who think he should stay human, but that's nothing compared to when they made him Scottish."
They had made the final Relay jump and were set to arrive at Jamone in thirty minutes. Shepard had gone over his plan with Vega and Joker and now was stuck in the anxious time before the mission could begin.
"So, Joker, do you enjoy your new crewmates?"
"Well, they're not exactly 'new' now that I've been flying with them for a while, but yeah, we get along. None of them can banter quite as well as the classic gang, though."
Shepard nodded, barely listening. He kept thinking of the batarian in the main battery. What was his name? Kramer? He'd managed to avoid speaking to him for the duration of the flight, but he would have to acknowledge his presence sooner or later. "Later" being the preferred choice.
"You're thinking about Karam, aren't you?" Joker said.
He just shrugged.
"Sorry, Shepard, but since you're not my commanding officer anymore, I feel like I can safely say this: You're a bit racist."
Shepard nearly spluttered. "What?! That's ridiculous!"
"Well, just to batarians, but still."
"I am not—that's just—!"
Joker just smiled and blinked at him, smug bastard.
"Okay, so I get on edge around batarians, sure. Can you honestly say I have no reason to be? They killed my family, for god's sake! I was attacked by two of them not two weeks ago! Add to that the Skyllian Blitz, the slavery, the constant antagonizing of the Council space—"
"Right, nobody can antagonize the Council but you!" Joker shook his head. "Yes, humans and batarians don't exactly have a rosy history, and you least of all among humans, but come on, Shepard; you've fought people from every race at some point or another: slavers, pirates, robots, politicians. Humans and turians fought eachother the moment they first met, and no, turians didn't kill your family and I wouldn't expect you to be comfortable around them if they had, but. . ."
"But what?"
"You're Commander Shepard. You're supposed to be this bastion of reason and sensibility among us stupid, racist mortals! You know that any race could have attacked Mindoir and Illium proves that batarians don't have a monopoly on slavery. Even if they had, their home planet is gone and their way of life is dead. For better or worse, they're in the same position as the quarians were six years ago—and I remember a certain Commander who thought mistrust of quarians was disgusting."
He looked out Joker's window at the void. If he was being held up as an ideal moral standard, the galaxy was doomed. "I still don't think it's the same. The quarians hadn't done anything to earn the hatred other people set on them."
"Except create a hostile artificial intelligence that had the ability to multiply and threaten galactic stability for the next three hundred years, after the quarians tried to exterminate them and then altered historical records to make themselves seem like the good guys in that whole situation, no, they hadn't." He sighed. "Regardless, just give the guy a chance, eh? He might surprise you."
"When did you get so. . ." Shepard waved his hand in the air as he tried to think of the word. ". . .advice-y?"
"Falling in love with an AI has a weird way of opening your mind. Who'da thunk?"
Shepard digested that for a moment. "Hey, I'm sorry about EDI. The original, I mean."
Joker sighed. "Yeah, well. Everybody's lost someone. I guess my turn was overdue. You know what the worst part of it was? How quick it happened. Like, she was there one second, and then she wasn't. I didn't even know she was gone until I landed the ship and looked up. Death should be a drawn-out, dramatic thing like in the vids, where everyone gets a chance to say goodbye. Not instantaneous."
EDI's light popped up next to Joker. "Cheer up, Jeff. You still have me."
"That's hardly a reason to be cheery, you chair-hijacking son of a—"
The cabin doors opened. Vega waved Shepard out into the CIC.
"We're getting close," Vega said. "Are you sure you want to go by yourself? You don't know what's waiting for you."
He shook his head. "I don't know who'll be watching. Me visiting my in-laws at the hospital won't be conspicuous; me visiting them with an armed squad will, and if the hostile finds out we're coming. . ."
Vega made an irritated noise, his arms crossed like a child trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. "I don't know. Still think you should have backup. How about this: we drop someone off to go ahead of you, they wait in the lobby for a few minutes, and then we send you in like normal? That way, nobody who might be watching could know you're together and you'll have someone right there in case things go south."
"That's. . .actually a decent idea. Okay. Who you gonna send?"
"You want me to pick?"
"You know the crew, you know who'd be best."
"Okay. Karam."
Shepard winced. He was afraid of that, but he didn't actually expect Vega to pick him.
Vega held up his hands. "I know, I know; I've heard it all from the admirals already. But I trust Karam with my life, and he's even saved it a couple of times. You want the best guy for the job, it's him."
Great. Even Vega thinks I'm a racist. Shepard took a deep, bracing breath, then swallowed his reservations. They were on the same team, on the same ship; it wasn't the first time he had to work with someone less than ideal, after all. He couldn't let his personal feelings put them at risk.
Besides, the batarian probably wouldn't have to do anything.
"All right. He can go ahead. But he can't go in armed, at least not noticeably."
"No problem there; guy's more of a techie anyway. He uses tech armor like it's biotics."
"So why'd you bring him on in the first place? Out of curiosity."
"I bumped into him on a pirate raid a few years ago. He helped us get in their base unnoticed and we took out their leader; saved a lot of time and lives in the process. He wanted to come along, so I asked Hackett for a favor and here we are."
"But what's his story? Why does he want to be here in the first place?"
Vega shrugged. "You'll have to ask him. I don't dig quite as deep into my crew's personal lives as you did. Don't know how you always found the time to make conversation with everyone and do your work. I just know he's good at what he does and he's proven himself; that's enough for me."
Joker's voice projected through the intercom. "Getting ready to approach Jamone's atmosphere, Commander."
Vega hopped to and started giving orders. Shepard took the elevator down to the shuttle bay to prepare the equipment he'd need. Hopefully they weren't too late.
Solana
The small bit of light from their omni-tools lit just a few feet around them. Solana had to watch her step for rocks, metal, and old debris as they went through.
Most of the trip through the tunnel was made in silence, except for when Lantar pointed out a bad step or low ceiling ahead. Her neck and shoulder bothered her immensely, a distinctive pain radiating from where Aldus had grabbed her before. She hoped it was just a sprain; a pinched nerve or, worse, cervical misalignment would require surgery to fix.
"Your neck all right?" Lantar said behind her. "You've been rubbing at it a lot. I have some medi-gel if you—"
"I'm fine." Her voice came out more short than she meant it to. "I've already used medi-gel. I don't think it's going to help."
"Ah. You know, you're rather prone to injury? Your leg, your shoulder, your neck. . .danger follows you."
"Yes, well. I only seem to get injured when you're around."
She meant it as a joke, but Lantar's voice dropped. "Yes, I guess I do have that effect on people."
She sighed. "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"The whole, 'I'm terribly depressed about my tragic past' thing. I don't need it right now."
"Sorry. What do you need?"
The tunnel's features gradually became more visible She saw the other end approaching. "I'm getting the hell off this station," she said.
She heard Lantar's feet grind to a sudden halt behind her. "What?"
"I shouldn't even be here. I got caught up in something I didn't understand, and now I'm getting out of it.
"But. . .what about Archangel? He'll kill Aria and take Omega if we don't do anything!"
"What do I care what happens to this place? To Aria? Hell, if Aldus can improve Omega in her place, maybe he should have it. I just want to go back to how things were."
"But you're a part of it now!"
They reached the opening and emerged behind a building, the area clear and private. She breathed in the "fresh" air and opened her omni-tool. For the hundredth time, she tried to call Garrus. He still didn't answer. Neither did her father.
"I've done enough, Lantar. So have you." She faced him and, to her surprise, he seemed hurt. Angry, almost.
"I'm not leaving," he said. "This is the closest place I've ever had to a home. I still see value in it, even if you don't."
"You can't beat him by yourself!"
"No, I can't! That's why I want—need—your help! We can beat him, Solana; we know more about him than anyone else." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Your brother was with a group earlier. Could they help us?"
"You'd go to Garrus for help?"
"It's looking like that's my only option. And if there's anyone in the galaxy who can stop the new Archangel, it's the old one." He bowed his head. "He won't listen to me, Solana. Hell, he'll probably just kill me. But he'll listen to you."
"This is—aaargh!" She kicked a rock and inadvertently triggered a biotic shockwave that obliterated it in midair. She spun on her heels and pointed at Lantar. "I'll take you to the group and explain what's going on, but Garrus is off-world now and I can't reach him. Frankly, I don't if I should even be listening to you."
She regretted saying it, but it was too late to take it back. His face puffed out angrily at her. "Then why are you still here?"
"Because. . .because you still saved me and dad, and now I owe you for saving me again. But as soon as I'm able, I'm getting off this rock, understand?"
She opened her omni-tool again, this time calling Caelon. "We got everything," he said as soon as he picked up. "You know the guy? Nevermind, we'll talk about it later. You and Sidonis get back here and we'll regroup."
"Wait—how do you know about Sidonis?"
"I told you: we got everything. Including the stuff after Archangel or Aldus or whoever."
She slapped her palm against her forehead. "Damn it. All right."
She turned off the omni-tool and sighed, stilling her nerves. What am I doing here? Sidonis looked like he calmed down as well.
He'd admitted everything to her. On Palaven or any turian-controlled colony, he'd be hanged without question. Even accidentally leading a squad to their deaths was a major offense; deliberately betraying them? Just to save himself? How could she trust someone like that?
It didn't matter before. She trusted him with her life right until that point, and he always came through. He was the same person then—she just knew more about him now.
Regardless of how she felt, right now she had no choice.
"Do you know where we can get a cab around here?" She asked him finally.
He nodded. "Follow me."
He walked ahead, and she followed.
Shepard
Karam was to go first and wait in the hall near Pallin's room. Shepard stood just an inch taller than him in the shuttle bay. He could see the thick little hairs growing around Karam's mouth and eyes. He reminded himself that Vega's plan made sense; if nothing else, nobody would expect him to be working with a batarian.
"I hope you know how to shoot a gun, not just fix it."
Karam grunted. "I can shoot just fine."
"I suppose having two sets of eyes help."
"Not as much as you'd think. Excellent depth perception, but shitty hand-eye coordination."
"So what brings you on an Alliance ship?"
Karam shrugged. "It's the Normandy. Alliance or not, it's a big deal."
"So you're here for the recognition?"
"No. I'm here because I saved Commander Vega's ass, and he happened to be the Commander of the Normandy."
"Why'd you save him?"
"You're a curious one, aren't you?"
"I like to know who I'm working with."
Karam blinked all four eyes and grinned, his sharp teeth striking a menacing cord in Shepard's memory. "I'm from Kar'shan, like most homeless batarians. I was rich before the Reapers showed up—very big deal in batarian society. Human, too, from what I can tell. But now we have no economy to speak of, so I was broke when Vega picked me up."
"Did you own slaves?"
"Yes, several. Not humans, though. Humans slaves weren't considered 'high class;' usually, only poorer batarians owned them."
Shepard snorted. "How noble."
"Yes. Now I'm helping you. Strange how things go sometimes."
"I take it I wasn't Kar'shan's most popular figure."
"Oh, you were like a strange, foreign pop star to us. The Hegemony didn't allow much news from outside our own star systems to reach us, so we were mostly ignorant of your existence until after the Citadel was attacked. After that, many of us thought you were an interesting human figure; the human slaves liked you, and we thought that was quaint. You better believe we knew of you after the Bahak System was destroyed. You went from pop star to terrorist real quick."
"I tried to save that system."
"I know; Vega explained it to me. Most batarians know now too. Believe it or not, I don't actually hate you. I just think you're overrated and out of shape."
The Normandy descended, and the shuttle bay doors opened. A gust of air and noise greeted them as they hovered right above the ground. Karam winked two eyes at Shepard and they both hopped off, Karam making for the hospital while Shepard stayed behind with his pistol.
Garrus
"Are you sure?"
Solana's voice, far more strained and exhausted than it was before he left, answered through the omni-tool. "Completely. It was Aldus. And he said he's going after mom and dad. Where the hell are you?"
He dragged his hand across his eyes. He should have told her. The shuttle creaked along at an agonizingly slow pace, and he was helpless to do anything but sit and wait for news from John. Good news, he hoped.
"I'm on it, don't worry. What's important now is that you regroup with Zaeed and the others."
"What do you mean, you're 'on it'? You knew? And you went off without me?"
"I couldn't—"
"No, stop, whatever. I'm sure you have your reasons. But you owe me for this. Remember that."
Her voice contained something else—something he didn't like. Like she was hiding something. "Sol? Did something else happen you're not telling me?"
A long, empty moment passed. He thought he heard movement on the other end of the line. A man's voice?
". . .Nothing important. Just get back here soon, okay?"
They hung up. Garrus sniffed. She was definitely hiding something. Well, he did owe her; that much was true.
He opened up his omni-tool again, but this time he accessed his old files copied from the C-Sec database. C-Sec was destroyed, but Garrus had long-since downloaded a wealth of information in case he ever needed it—a move that was highly illegal and likely would have gotten him a life sentence, if he had been caught. He searched for any files on Aldus, but there was nothing useful. He typed in a number.
"Victus," answered the other line.
"Afternoon, Primarch," Garrus said to the second-most powerful turian in the galaxy. "I need a favor."
"Wha—Vakarian? How did you get my personal line?"
"I've had it since the War. About that favor? I need access to any surviving pre-War civilian databases. Concentrate on Cipritine for now and I'll let you know if I need more."
"Even if I could get that information—"
"All due respect, sir, you owe me, and that information could mean life or death for my family. I'll make sure Shepard knows you helped me when I needed it."
He heard Victus harumph on the other line. "Most Primarchs would have you arrested for addressing them in that tone, boy. Good thing for you that you're right. I'll gather what I can and send it to you, but I had better not find it on some extranet website or you will be hanged, understood, soldier?"
Garrus smiled. He liked Victus as Primarch, though most would disagree. He knew when the rules had to be bent just so. "Yes, Primarch. And thank you, sir."
He hung up and noticed the volus passenger in the next seat was staring at him. He winked and settled back into his seat. A few minutes later his omni-tool notified him that the files were received; he started going through, searching for any references to an "Aldus." At least he would have something to make him feel productive until John called. Hopefully with good news.
Shepard
On his way to the hospital, he took a few minutes practicing his draw, bringing out his pistol to focus on an arbitrary target, like a tree or a spot on the ground. His fingers moved as quickly as they used to, hitting the spots he picked about eight times out of ten. In his heyday, he could shoot almost as well as Garrus (better, actually, but Garrus didn't need to know that), hitting the same spot on the same target multiple times in a row. He was out of practice, but not completely regressed into a novice. Good enough.
The hospital doors opened, not into a scene of gunfire and chaos as he half expected, but the typical, sterile activity the hospital always had, with omni-tools flashing and computers beeping and the occasional patient bed being wheeled through. Keeping his hand on his pistol, Shepard took the elevator up to his in-laws' floor. Karam sat in the waiting room just across the hall; they each gave a quick nod.
The door to his parents' room was closed. A large, red "Do not disturb" sign, complete with the universal symbol for hazardous materials, was on the front. He approached it slowly, as though whatever was on the other side might hear him coming too fast.
A salarian orderly stopped him. "They're with the doctor, sir."
"Which doctor?"
"I don't know, not my room. But that sign means patients and their doctor only. If you'll wait over in the waiting room. . ."
Shepard tapped his pistol, and the orderly noticed it apparently for the first time. Shepard stared at the salarian until he raised his hands and backed up. "Or not. I just work here."
Shepard unhooked the gun and slowly pushed the door open. The first thing he saw was Xenafor on the bed, exactly as she had ever been. He couldn't tell from here whether she was alive or dead.
Opening the room up entirely, he saw Pallin on his bed, his face marked with dried blood where it had been cut several times. His left hand was tied to the bed. At the foot of the bed, a turian in a doctor's lab coat silently looked over a chart. He looked up when Shepard casually stepped in, keeping his gun behind him.
Pallin groaned and turned toward him. His eyes went wide. "Shepard-!"
Shepard smiled and interrupted, taking a few more steps into the room, his eyes on the "doctor." "Pallin, if you don't stop calling me 'Shepard,' I might start calling you 'Dad.'"
He pulled his gun and fired at the stranger, sending the gun he pulled flying out of his hand. Without a sound, the turian tossed his coat and barreled for Shepard, his eyes frenzied and mouth open in a silent snarl. Shepard fired again, hitting the turian in the weak point of his armor, where the shoulder connected with the breastplate. He might as well have hit a rock, from the way his attacker reacted; he ignored the now bloody spot pooling up on his arm and lunged for Shepard's neck. He swiped the gun out of Shepard's hand with enough force to break the bone of an average human, but Shepard had enough cybernetic implants in him to survive a ten-story fall. He grabbed the turian's shoulders, keeping a solid grip through the blood, and the turian grabbed his arms in turn; they grappled in a deadlock for several seconds. So close to his opponent's face, Shepard saw wild glee in the turian's eyes, as if he enjoyed every second regardless of whether he was winning or losing. He still made no sound at all—no grunts, growls, or shouts to indicate a living voice behind that face. Perhaps there was none.
A light blinked in Shepard's peripheral vision. "Over here, asshole," his mother-in-law's VI calmly said.
His opponent's gaze darted to the VI, and Shepard took advantage of the distraction to flip him overhead in a toss. The turian crashed onto the ground hard enough to shake the hospital equipment, but he rolled to his feet as quickly as Shepard did. The turian looked over Shepard's shoulder as Karam entered the room, gun fixed at the turian's head.
"Took you long enough," Shepard said.
"I thought you were handling it pretty well."
The turian, apparently uninterested in Karam or his weapon, activated his omni-tool.
"Wouldn't do that!" Karam shouted. His tech armor shone over his metal and mesh armor like a holographic second coating. "Hold your ass still."
The turian punched a few commands into his omni-tool all the same, his mad eyes on Shepard's. Karam fired a shot, hitting the turian's left hand and disrupting the omni-tool, but the bastard just smiled.
Then the omni-tool began to blink. Red flashes with loud, frantic bursts of noise. The turian looked Shepard in the eyes and his mouth gaped open in a hideous cackle.
Shepard took a step forward, but Karam was quicker. The batarian tackled the still-laughing turian into the window, cracking it, then activated his tech armor. A crackling burst of energy radiated from Karam as his armor dispelled, strong enough to knock over Shepard and hospital equipment, and push the turian out of the window. Shepard could still hear him laughing as he fell for just a second—then he felt the explosion.
Lights went out. The whole building shook. He heard shouts from outside their room and the twinkling of millions of shards of shattered glass hitting the ground outside. As the dust settled, he crept carefully along the floor before he realized that, if the building's structural integrity was seriously compromised, just his walking wouldn't collapse the entire hospital. He got up and found Karam against the wall opposite where the windows used to be, panting, but alive. Pallin and Xenafor's beds were turned over; Xenafor lay crumpled and unmoving, and Pallin groaned, still bound to his.
A salarian doctor entered the room, his coat ragged and his big eyes constantly darting to and fro. "Everyone okay in here?"
"Help me," Shepard said as he stood Xenafor's bed upright. The doctor looked at her body for a long moment as they bent to lift her. "Is she-?"
"Corpalis," Shepard said, then the doctor nodded, needing no further explanation. They set her on the bed and the doctor checked her vitals while Shepard untied Pallin. The bands were even tighter than they had appeared; Pallin's wrists and ankles were rubbed raw and purple, and his midsection. . .
"I'm fine," he growled when he saw Shepard staring at the triangular shape of wings and a pair of horizontal bars burned into the natural plating of Pallin's chest. He'd seen it often enough on Garrus' old suit of armor: it was the Archangel insignia. Dried blood caked the edges in purplish-brown stains.
Groaning and rubbing his wrists, Pallin stood on rickety legs. "I guess he wanted to leave a message on my corpse. He pointed my wife at me so she could watch." He hobbled to Xenafor's bed as the doctor stood.
Shepard extended a hand to Karam, who accepted without argument. He wobbled a bit as he stood; the front of his armor was singed slightly from the blast, having had no shield protection after detonating the tech armor, but he didn't appear seriously injured.
"First time blowing up a hospital," the batarian muttered. "We're not leaning, are we? I feel like we're leaning."
Shepard stood Pallin's bed up and sat Karam on it. "You did good," he said, meaning it. "You pretty much saved all of us. Thank you."
The doctor drew himself up, and all eyes went to him for a report. "She's been knocked around, but she'll live. What the hell happened?"
Pallin grinned, but even moving his mandibles seemed exhausting. "My son-in-law," he croaked, just before passing out.
Drineax
Fuck, his hand hurt. The multi-pack of medi-gel he dumped on it did nothing. He rubbed at his bandaged hand like it was a baby, except a baby wouldn't be part of him and a baby wouldn't hurt like fuck and a baby would just scream and he'd probably just kill it. He looked sadly at the knife on the table, its blade all twisted up as the bullet that struck him (or "grazed" him, whatever) left it, forever unusable.
All things considered, everything probably happened for the best. He really didn't want to kill Solana; killing the pretty ones was just tragic, and traitorous bitch or no, he still liked her. And now Azrael-it had to have been Azrael who helped her-was out of the picture too. Win-win.
But what she said to him still dug at the back of his mind like a little brain-dwelling thresher maw. "He killed Gavorn," she'd said.
It was impossible, or a trick of some kind. He would have known if Gavorn had died, just as the rest of them would know if he died. And why would Archangel kill his own people anyway?
As if the universe was responding to his thoughts, his omni-tool flashed an alarm that could only mean one thing: Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Michael was dead.
Uh-oh.
Archangel stormed into the common room before Drineax could sneak out, snarling and shouting all over again. Drineax sighed inwardly. The man had just calmed down after the previous debacle, too. Nothing to do but stand at attention while his boss freaked out. He ignored the small shudder building up in his own chest. If Michael was dead, then how would that impact their mission? What if Gavorn really was-? No, he wouldn't freak out too. Someone had to keep a level head.
When Archangel was done, he got up close to Drineax, so close he could smell his helmet. "The plan's been moved up," Archangel said, as if he didn't just get word that one of his best men was dead.
"What happened?" Drineax asked. About a thousand different ways to ask that question, but it seemed best to keep the sarcasm down right now. He only got a growl in response.
"It doesn't matter," Archangel finally said, when he decided to communicate in words instead of onomatopoeia. "We'll have to move sooner, but the plan is the same. There's nothing they can do now."
Archangel filled him in on the plan, and the sheer brilliance of it was enough to remind Drineax why he followed this crazy bastard in the first place. Sucked that Michael died, but he crept Drineax out anyway; it wasn't like the guy made a lot of friends.
Still that nagging thought, though.
When Archangel finished, Drineax decided to risk a question. Questions were his thing, after all.
"Where is Gavorn?"
He didn't move as he asked, but Archangel froze in place, and he could feel that man's gaze through his visor. "Raphael is dead," Archangel finally said.
The shuddering began in his chest again, and this time he wasn't sure he could keep it down. "What? But why didn't-how-?"
"He died doing what was right, for our cause, Gabriel. Do not waste his death on a fruitless search for answers. Not when we're so close."
Suddenly his hand no longer hurt so much. The shuddering spread from his chest to his shoulders. "Did you kill him?" His voice was much quieter than he would have liked, but it took all his strength. In his head he repeated his mantra over and over: Don't freak out Don't freak out Don't freak out Don't. . .
Archangel spread his hands. "If I had, would it change my answer? His death brought us this far. It had meaning, just as Michael's death had meaning." He put his arms down, his hand twitching near his pistol. "Do you take an issue with my methods, Gabriel?"
He pushed his anger down with a final shove that left him feeling physically tired. He couldn't kill Archangel, not even if he wanted to and had the ability; they were so close, and everything they had done had to have a reason behind it. It just had to.
"No, sir," he said at last. Archangel nodded, then left without another word.
When he was gone, Drineax collapsed on the couch, his mind filled with a lot of dangerous thoughts. He chuckled to himself. At least his hand didn't hurt anymore.